


Alpha

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cuddy upgrades her management technique.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ticcy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ticcy).



> Written for ticcy's [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/glompalicious/5045.html?thread=829877#t829877). Many thanks to bell for the beta!

Fury boiled through Cuddy, so fast and so sudden that she had no earthly idea of how she'd ended up in _another_ battle of words in Diagnostics, without even the slim protection of professionalism offered by the glass walls of House's office. She was shaking, adrenaline and sheer indignant rage fuelling every barb she launched. House, the bastard, was en _joy_ ing himself, no matter how pissed off he looked. Getting under her guard. Letting his gaze linger, as if this was all just foreplay--as if because Cuddy let him kiss her in their off-hours, any and all of his medical negligence was excusable. She was going to knock every prop out from under his argument, at any moment, as soon as she was able to find her voice through her anger. House pushed forward, gunning for her every weak spot--and _damn_ him, he knew more of them every day--opening his mouth with what was going to be another barrage of the most hurtful things he could think of to say.

"House," Foreman said flatly from behind an issue of _Harper's Weekly_ , "knock it off."

House's mouth snapped shut. He shot a sour grimace in Foreman's direction and rapped the handle of his cane against the whiteboard. " _One_ diagnosis that fits all the symptoms, and I could let our fearless leader keep on pretending we actually earn our hyper-inflated salaries," he said. "Come on, people."

"Granulomatosis," Taub said.

"No way," Hadley countered. "Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma."

Chase opened his mouth, shrugged, and then gave the nod to Hadley.

Foreman kept reading Harper's, without a word.

Cuddy inhaled a sharp breath. Three seconds ago House's team had been watching the fight as if they had first-class tickets to Wimbledon. Of course they knew. There was no doubt in her mind that House had bragged, the very second he felt secure in his position. He'd let a word drop, and his fellows were more than used to picking up on every salubrious clue. God, she hated herself for losing control in front of them, all the more often because she and House were trying (and what the _hell_ did she think she was doing? What had she _ever_ thought she was doing, going to him and telling him he'd been right all along?) to find the point where their wholly different lives could intersect.

House sighed, heavy and melodramatic. "Well, since no one else is offering, I'll go interrupt Wilson's deadly important meeting. --Oops! See what I did there?" He gave them all his fake shock-and-concern gape, and then headed for the door. "Why I have four minions when I end up doing all the Wilson-wrangling myself..." he muttered, leaning as closely as he possibly could into Cuddy's personal space to deliver his complaint, and then, with a leering glance at her breasts that no one in the tri-county area was intended to miss, he limped jauntily down the hall, whistling a merry tune.

"I'll get her consent for the biopsy," Hadley said, and with a smile, invited Chase to go with her.

"I'm running the test for granulomatosis anyway," Taub said, and off Foreman's sardonic glance, he added, "What? You know he's going to ask when the biopsy comes back clean."

" _If_ ," Hadley insisted, and the three of them were already bickering as the door shut behind them.

It felt like the entire room was spinning around her. Cuddy couldn't quite catch her breath. Foreman was sitting, at his ease, at the other end of the glass table, as if he hadn't just stopped House in his tracks, gotten two plausible diagnoses out of the rest of the team, and all without missing a paragraph in his damn magazine.

Where the hell had he learned to do that? And when the hell had House started _listening_?

The anger pumping through Cuddy's veins gradually faded, as if she'd never been on the verge of clawing House's eyes out. Her breathing eased, and she straightened her shoulders. Without the anger, she could think again, and the question foremost in her mind was why she hadn't seen Foreman's usefulness earlier. Three years ago, she'd dragged him back here to do exactly this. She'd always suspected that he'd fail. Foreman had never done anything to contradict her assumption. For the first two of those years, he _had_ failed. But, it seemed, he'd also picked up a few tricks along the way.

"You're good at that," she said. There was no point in letting the elephant in the room go unacknowledged. Not if she wanted to use it. Cuddy took a step closer to the table, studying Foreman's equally studied indifference.

Foreman put the magazine down and faced her squarely, lacing his fingers together and arching an eyebrow, gauging her response. "You used to be good at that." With a sarcastic, mock confusion that reminded her all too well of his boss, he added, "Not hard to figure out which one of us he's fucking."

Cuddy exhaled, feeling her spine stiffen. She'd deserved that shot; she hated that she'd lost her touch, or her authority, or whatever reprieve House had deigned to offer her before they got together.  Maybe--the thought invaded her mind, not for the first time--House hated her for giving in; for loving him.  He would never respect her because she'd stopped fighting for a different life--the _right_ life, the life she'd said she wanted.  But: "I wanted him," she said quietly.

Foreman blinked, all his ease suddenly broken. Cuddy watched him evenly. Her throat was tight, but he couldn't see that. _She_ could see, though, that she'd gotten to him. Put him on the back foot.

It couldn't be simply that she'd spoken honestly, let him see the truth in what she was saying. Foreman lived for his job, not for her feelings, and certainly not for House's personal life. There were two possibilities, and one of them was so fantastic that Cuddy couldn't fathom how in the world it might be true.

Did Foreman _care for_ House?

Maybe she'd lost her mind, after all.  There was something of Stockholm in the idea.  Why had Foreman stayed so long?  Why was he arguing with her now, stiff and abrupt and guarded, unless he had some stake in House's life?

"Thank you," she said, keeping her voice soft.  It was a crazy idea, but one she could test without ever bringing it into the light of day.  Step softly, and watch his reaction.  "I shouldn't have gotten drawn in."

"He knows how to bait you," Foreman said. With a snort, he rolled his eyes, and Cuddy could read that--so easily. Hadn't she felt that way, for years? Putting up with House, unwilling to let go of being near him, and at the same time berating herself for not shutting him down? _He knows how to bait everyone_. Foreman's light acknowledgement was aimed at himself, not her. He might have found the right moment, this time, to shut House up, but it wasn't a regular occurrence. Only enough to keep House on his toes; never enough to stop Foreman from feeling the sting of House's comments. Cuddy could respect that.

Whatever Foreman had been thinking, he locked it away again, shut it down behind a facade of holier-than-thou. "He treats you like shit."

And Foreman could make her pity vanish as quickly as House could. House was hardly the only insufferable know-it-all in this office. And Cuddy could play at skepticism far better than Eric Foreman, whatever puffed up opinion he might have of himself. "And someone else would treat me better?"

Foreman sighed, his head tilting. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

A smile crossed her face before Cuddy could stop it, an astonished burst of laughter catching just under her breath. There was no way Foreman believed that she was coming on to him. It was defensive, but House was so much better at deflection that Cuddy didn't even need to sidestep. No, not door number one, which only left-- "You _do_ think you could do better," she said, shaking her head in pure wonder. She wouldn't let the cold insecurity rise up--what if Foreman was right? What if he could manage House, _be_ with House, better than she could?

If Foreman had looked stony a moment before, now he shut down with a tight, dead anger that clamped his lips shut and knotted his shoulders. Ostentatiously, he picked up the _Harper's_ and snapped it open. "Try not to leave your issues all over the office," he said, biting out the words, burying himself in the magazine.

Cuddy took a seat across from him. She had always admired Foreman's professionalism, but somehow it appealed more when his feathers were ruffled. Imagine--Foreman with _House_. Foreman taking the brunt of his sarcasm; dulling the edge of his comments. Silencing him as effectively as he had during the differential. "Did you want a chance to prove yourself?" she asked, spreading her hands, letting the offer lie on the table. The "right" life, the life with a husband, a child--how long had it taken her to admit to herself they weren't going to happen? Hadn't Lucas been one long last gasp at _normalcy_? She should have known it would never work with House. He hated it, loathed Cuddy's every instinct towards an everyday life.

"I don't know what you think I want," Foreman snapped. "It's not going to happen."

"You can shut him up," Cuddy said. Sometimes. That was verging on magical, as far as she was concerned. "You'd give him..." _What I can't_. That unyielding quality that House kept pushing her for, when she was so damn tired of fighting.

The magazine slapped against the table. Foreman stared at her, his eyes wide and somehow hurt. Cuddy's breath caught, but she refused to stop. She'd always had Foreman's number, and maybe she was the world's supreme bitch, but it felt _good_ , having that control. She smiled, mirroring his usual patronizing _there, there_ attitude right back at him. "But can you _keep_ him in line?"

"Stop it," Foreman said, but the snap was gone from his words. He stared at her, as honestly open as he'd ever been, and Cuddy _wished_ it would work. That it could be that easy. Foreman, at least, had never declared he hated kids, her kid in particular. As much as he could give House what she couldn't, there niggled at the back of her mind that he could give _her_ what House couldn't. If she started slowly enough.

Normal was overrated.

They were both still when the slam of Wilson's office door echoed in the hall, and House's whistling started up as he headed back to Diagnostics. He wouldn't miss an instant of the tableau: Cuddy and Foreman seated across from each other, like ambassadors hammering out an armistice, the tension jagged between them.

The conference room door opened. House's gaze darted between them, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Plotting?" he asked, twisting slightly to speak to Cuddy. "I thought I told you that stinks up the office for days."

Cuddy laughed, openly, freely. She stood up, took House by the lapels, and lifted herself onto her toes to press a kiss against his slack, suspicious mouth. "I'll see you later," she said, low and throaty. Nothing would leave him more sharply curious, more crafty and persistent in his questioning. Cuddy smiled, and lingered one last second in the doorway.

One of the first things she'd learned as Dean of Medicine had been to use her strengths against others' weaknesses.

House was always helpless when she delegated.


End file.
